


Tale for a Winter Night

by opalmatrix



Category: Chronicles of the Kencyrath - P. C. Hodgell
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Growing Up, Male-Female Friendship, Rescue, Shapeshifting, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-08 21:51:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8864053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opalmatrix/pseuds/opalmatrix
Summary: When Torisen needs to leave Yce back at Gothregor while he travels to Tentir, she finds herself with time on her paws.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miss_M](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_M/gifts).



> For Miss_M, who wanted "Yce and Marc spending time together" and "Yce grows up from puphood," with "Yce’s wolf-girl POV" and "Marc works on the stained-glass window with the map of Rathillien." The theme for the title is an oldie but goodie: Gordon Lightfoot's "[Song for a Winter Night](https://youtu.be/Is38naHuxjE)." Beta by the awesome [minutia_r](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minutia_R) and [Whymzycal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whymzycal).

Yce woke and knew that she was alone.

She uncurled from her nest on Torisen's bed. The blankets and sheets still smelled of him, fear and anger overlying his own special scent. He had woken again and again in the night, escaping from dream enemies. Sometimes Yce could almost see them, as she had when the Trishien mother-leader had helped him weeks ago, in her airy den. Yce stretched and grinned, remembering the almost-feeling of Torisen's shadow sire against her fangs. How it had run from her! Why hadn't Torisen let her come along with him to Tentir? He needed her.

But he had said No. He had said Stay. She pushed her nose into his pillow and whined softly. With her eyes closed, it almost seemed as though he were still here.

Her belly brought her back to the moment, driving her to leap out of the warm bedding and onto the cold boards of the floor. Winter light filled the tower room; the sun was already well up. She could smell bread and meat and other foods, away down in the kitchen. There was plenty to eat nowadays, since Torisen had brought the shadow woman to her mate in the keep up the river. That powerful bitch and her littermate had been glad and had given Torisen food for all his pack. Yce had behaved perfectly that day, staying outside with the dogs, even though she was a wolver of the Deep Weald and not some tame cur. She had not even eaten any of the birds sporting in the leaping water in the stone pond in the courtyard. Why hadn't Torisen taken her with him this morning?

She shook herself, shedding these thoughts like water. Food, said her belly again, and this time she heeded it. She slipped down the winding stair from Torisen's lofty den and ran through the cool stone-flagged corridors below, easily dodging the tall Kendar carrying wood or water or clean linen. She stopped only once, to bow her head and wag her tail low with respect when she came across Torisen's kinsman Kindrie the Shadow Walker, the air about him filled with the scent of the dried herbs in his hands. Others thought him weak and strange, but Yce knew that Kindrie knew how to fight the shadows even better than she did. She wished Torisen would let his cousin help him.

The kitchen was warm and bright and noisy. Yarrow was the leader here, commanding in her white apron and the white cloth that bound and covered her hair. Yce trotted over to her and nosed her knee, whining softly as the woman looked down. "You, is it? Pining for the Highlord, I suppose. Bracken has your meal, if that will soothe your broken heart."

Bracken muttered something about dogs and kennel yards, but the platter that the youth set down in the corner by the scullery was well-heaped with fowl's offal, tail ends of sausages, marrow bones, and an egg broken over the whole. Yce decided to ignore him: he was as reedy as a willow withy, and they both knew she could knock him down any time. She settled down to gulp and gobble, sprawling contented at last to gnaw on the largest bones, her eyes half-closed. A full stomach could not make her forget that Torisen wasn't here, but now it didn't hurt as badly.

The door to the kitchen yard swung open, followed by a gust of icy air carrying the faint scents of dogs, horses, hot metal from the farrier's forge, and the woods outside the walls. The kitchen felt closed and stuffy now. Yce sprang up and ran out through the doorway, neatly avoiding Bracken with another load of kindling. She raced past the snow-bound herb and vegetable beds, following the scents to the stable yard. A handful of horses had been brought up from the underground stables to exercise in the yard, their hooves ringing on the frozen ground as they trotted around, young Kendar perched on their bare backs to learn the rudiments of horsemanship. Among the taller creatures was one short, stocky pony, fully tacked out, and on its back sat Lyra Lack-wit.

Lyra was foolish, as Yce well knew. How could she not be, when she was so seldom allowed out of the warm dens in which the leader bitches kept the young she-pups? Yce had long ago decided that there was no use in trying to understand how the Highborn kept their females. But still, here was Lyra, apparently having evaded her seniors. Yce decided that she approved.

The horses all knew Yce well and did not shy or spook when they smelled her. She trotted after them easily, reveling in the exercise, and Rowan's mare Russet broke into a canter, delighting both her young rider and Yce, who pursued her. The pony pelted after them, doggedly trying to keep up in response to Lyra's squeals of encouragement. They all enjoyed themselves very much under the cold grey sky and were sorry when the stable mistress called a halt to the revelry. 'The horses are all a-sweat, Lady," she said, gruffly. "The youngsters need to rub 'em down and get 'em indoors afore they chill."

"I'm not cold at all," protested Lyra. "And Woodpigeon is fine." She's lying, thought Yce, watching with interest. The girl was shivering beneath her furs, and Yce was certain that her teeth were chattering behind her mask.

"Keep your pony well, and he'll keep you. I can see the sweat around his blanket, lass."

"But I don't want to go back in already! And I promised Bramble a ride."

The stable mistress turned to follow Lyra's gaze. Bracken's young littermate was standing by the stable door, her mittened hands tucked into her armpits. She pressed her chapped lips together and cast a pleading look at the woman.

"Well, all right. But only three times around the yard, mind. Your granny's captain will have the hide off'a me if you get chilled. Nor should you forget that Bracken's only nine years old and no horsewoman yet."

"I know that," said Lyra, firmly. The Kendar cub came over, giving Lyra a look of worship and gratitude. She was already almost as tall as the Highborn, for all that she was several years younger. Lyra held the pony's bridle firmly as Bramble mounted and then all three set off to circle the stable yard. Yce trotted after them. It was poor sport but better than nothing, with the last of the other horses already being led down the ramp into the stables.

Suddenly the pony Woodpigeon stopped dead. Ahead, rounding the corner, was a huge Molocar war hound. There was no sign of any handler. The giant dog's nostrils flared with interest as it looked at the pony, which was scarcely a hand taller. Woodpigeon stood his ground for a moment, with Bramble clutching his mane anxiously. Yce couldn't help herself; she cringed. But: "Shoo!" said Lyra. 

The Molocar looked amazed at this effrontery for a moment, but then his lips drew back and he snarled. Woodpigeon's nerve broke and he bolted, tearing the reins from Lyra's hands. The Molocar bounded after him, tongue lolling. Lyra screamed.

The stable mistress cursed and grabbed the riding crop tucked into her belt as Woodpigeon and the Molocar circled the stable yard and left the way the war hound had come. The woman ran after them, but she was clearly never going to catch up. Yce shook herself and ran after them as well.

The pony galloped out the main gate, headed for the hills and the forest, Bramble still clinging to his back. For the moment, they were outdistancing the hound. Yce knew she was faster than a Molocar, especially over the snowy, uneven ground. She had no thought of what she would do when she passed him, but Bramble was part of Torisen's pack: she knew how much he cared for every one of them. She could not let this happen while he was away. The snow flew beneath her as she leapt and sprang and leapt again, closing the distance between herself and her massive prey.

It seemed that the pony had some notion of the geography ahead of him—he was a creature of the hills, after all. He was circling around to the left and scrambling upward over rough terrain. There was a rocky defile, but although it meant he could go no farther, it also meant that the Molocar would not be able to circle around him easily. Wise Woodpigeon, thought Yce, and she surged ahead of the Molocar, far more nimble on the rocks than he was. If Bramble would get off and climb…the rock face above her was near vertical, and the Molocar would have no chance of catching her.

Yce raced up to Woodpigeon's side as he turned to face the oncoming hound. She nosed at Bramble's knee, hard. The Kendar girl was clutching the pony's mane in her mittened hands, her eyes closed. If she would only get off, Woodpigeon and Yce between them might hold off the Molocar for a few moments, until help could arrive. Yce could hear shouting and running feet somewhere down the slope behind them. But the cub was terrified and clearly had no idea what Yce wanted her to do.

Yce gulped and drew a deep breath. For a moment she could not think, and the hound was coming, and they were all going to die. Then at last she managed to shift her mouth and her tongue. "Orff! Orff! Get orff! Climb uff!" she barked.

Bramble's eyes flew open and she stared at Yce. Then she slid off and started to climb up the rocks, slowly and clumsily. The mittens, thought Yce. She couldn't hold on very well. And the rocks were icy….

Then Woodpigeon screamed, a deafening bugle right into her ear, and there was no time for thought.

The Molocar leapt for the pony's throat. Woodpigeon tucked his chin and lashed out with his hooves. The huge dog evaded the blows, but Yce lunged for his belly and managed to get a grip on flesh. The hound reared up and pulled away from her teeth, looming over her like a storm cloud, blood seeping into his fur. Then he fell backward down the steep slope, and Yce launched herself at him.

She nipped and bit and squirmed over his body. He was not limber, and for the moment she was able to avoid his teeth as he tried and failed to double up and bite her. Then a whip cracked far too near her head. The kennel master and his handlers had arrived.

Yce fell back, panting, as the Kendar closed in. The long whiplash had wrapped around the Molocar's head, and as the big dog scrabbled blindly at it with his huge paws, two handlers stepped in and clipped heavy leashes to rings on opposite sides of the hound's massive spiked collar. The kennel master roared: "Shamber! Down! Down, I say!"

The war hound growled, and the handlers with the leashes pulled downward, hard. At last the huge creature subsided, whimpering faintly and still trying to push the whip from his bleeding head. "Stay, now," said the kennel master, grim-faced.

"Good girl," said a familiar voice beside Yce, and a warm hand stroked her head. It was Marcarn, she realized: he and three other armed Kendar had accompanied the kennel master's team, in case the Molocar could not be subdued by his master. Among the others was Betony, Bramble and Bracken's dam. Already she was scrambling up the rocks to where her pup was clinging to the wall of stone. "Come now, Bramble," she called. But the girl only clung to the rock. She was terrified of falling, even though her feet were only an arms-length above her mother's head. Yce whined and nudged at Marc's hand.

"Hmm? Oh, I see. Bide here a moment, little one."

He climbed up beside Betony, and the two of them managed to convince Bramble to let go and fall into their arms. One of the other warriors was tending to Woodpigeon, checking his legs and hooves. "Lame," he said. "He's not fit to carry the lass back down."

"Never fear, I can carry her myself," declared Betony, holding her cub close. Yce felt soft and weak in her belly as she watched them, remembering her own dam, left far behind in the Deep Weald. Marc came back to Yce and knelt down to look at her closely, his big hands gently parting her fur. "Look at you, against that beast and not a mark on you. That was well done, my brave lass."

"She saved me," said Bramble, half muffled against her mother's neck. "She told me to get off the pony and climb up the rocks."

"She spoke?" said Betony, confused. "Surely—"

"Ah, now." Marc nodded his head. "You recall, the grown wolvers can take the shape of men and women and speak as well as any of us. The little white lass here must be growing up."

The others relaxed and murmured among themselves, agreeing and looking at Yce with approval, so that she ducked her head and squirmed to hide her face against Marc. "Two brave, big lasses, then," said Betony. "We must get them back into the keep and warm them."

"You lot go on down, then" said the kennel master, his voice lowly and heavy. He was glaring at the handlers, whose mishandling of the Molocar had caused this to happen. If they had been wolvers, their tails would have been firmly between their legs as they cringed from his anger.

The warriors turned and left, with Yce trotting at Marc's side. Behind them, on the rocks, the kennel master growled and snarled so that Yce was glad that she was not close enough to hear the actual words.

 

Back within the walls, they found quite a crowd awaiting them. Lyra, now shuddering with cold but gamely refusing to be dragged off to the Women's Halls by the Caineron captain until she learned the fate of her pony and her friend and their rescuer, fell on them one at a time, weeping with relief. Marc and the stable master assured her that all three adventurers would be fine with rest and food, so at last she consented to be carried away in the captain's arms. Woodpigeon went down the stable ramp to a warm stall and a hot bran mash, while Bramble and Yce were brought into the warm kitchen.

Bramble was soon asleep on her mother's lap, with Betony crooning a soft, slow rhythmic tune as she rocked her cub in her arms. Although it was pleasant enough for Yce to sit by the roaring fire for a bit while Marc ruffled her fur and Bracken attentively fed her choice tidbits of deer's heart, she soon had enough of the noise and chatter of the Kendar who crowded into the kitchen to praise her and coo over Bramble. She shook herself free and ran down the corridor and up the stairs to Torisen's den. No fire had been lit in his empty rooms, but she was warm in her own fur once she curled up on the bed.

She slept for some time, and when she woke, the sun outside the window showed the low light of the late winter afternoon, with flurries of snow falling. She was surprised to find herself stiff and a little sore-footed as she crept down the stairs and out into the courtyard to relieve herself. The smell of the wind promised more snow by morning. She evaded several well-wishers as she returned and sought the Council Chamber.

As she had hoped, Marc was in there, working with the glass. "How is our brave lass?' he greeted her. She tolerated his patting and ruffling of her fur for a few minutes and then leaned her teeth gently against his hand. He smiled and let her go. "I daresay you'll be able to ask me to stop when you feel like speaking again," he suggested. She growled vary faintly. He chuckled and held up a piece of glass so that the afternoon light shone through it. "Now then. Is this one red?"

Yce stared at it for a moment. It was the color of the sky just after dawn on a summer's day. She snorted and closed her eyes.

"Good," said Marc. "Is it blue?" She opened her eyes and yipped softly.

"Very good. How about this one?"

Colors could be tricky. Wolvers didn't usually bother much about them, but Yce knew that single-formed people did. She guessed that they were like different scents were to wolvers. She consented to play the game for half a dozen rounds before she grew bored and settled down in the warmth of one of the furnaces. Marc hummed to himself and sorted bits of glass into piles, then arranged some of them to fit one of the empty spaces in the window. Yce watched him, half dozing, occasionally licking her sore paws.

As the light outside dimmed, Marc left the table to light several lamps that stood on tall stands about the big space. Shadows flickered and danced. Yce looked over at the saddlebag in the corner, and the shadow girl Willow looked back at her. Yce wagged her tail once, and Willow waved back, as she always did. For the first time, Yce wondered whether Willow missed playing with other cubs. If she were still alive, she could play with Bramble.

Then Yce remembered that if Willow were still alive, she would be a grown woman, almost as old as Marc.

He was watching them, his big face sad as they both turned to look at him. He drew a deep breath and then walked over to one of the furnaces and opened one of the lower slots. When he picked up the saddlebag and opened it, Yce came over to him and nosed at his hip. He showed her the inside of the bag: small bones, dry and old. On the wall, the shadow girl placed her arms around her shadow brother's neck.

Marc picked up the small dome of the skull and kissed it. "Say goodnight to the wolver lass, Willow," he said, and held the skull out to Yce. Yce looked up at his face and felt the shadow of small hands in her fur and a small head leaning against hers. She licked the skull and heard inside her head the shade of a giggle.

Then Marc carefully loaded the bones into the furnace. On the wall, the shadow that was Willow stretched her arms out and then lay down and curled up, like a cub settling to sleep. Marc closed the slot and opened a lower one so that he might shovel in some more charcoal. Then he took off his leather gloves and sat down on the floor, the saddlebag in his lap, stroking it absently as he hummed a soft, slow rhythmic tune. Yce came over and sat beside him. The shadow wolver watched as the shadow man stroked the shadow child's back, until she faded away.

Yce put her chin on Marc's thigh as he covered his face with his huge hands and wept. She whimpered from time to time herself. Willow was gone, but Yce still had Bramble and Lyra and Marc—and Torisen, of course. Marc had Torisen, too, she supposed, and Torisen's dark sister, away at Tentir. She wished they were here now.

Marc sniffed and wiped his shirt sleeve across his face, then nestled one of those big hands gently on her shoulders. "You miss our lad Torisen, don't you, lass?" he said, his voice hoarse.

She whined and pressed her nose into his side. He ruffled her fur and then pulled her half into his lap, holding her close and pressing his cheek on her head. She tolerated it for a moment and then wriggled herself free to watch as he stood up and tidied away his gear. He snuffed the lamps, and the room was lit only by the faint glow of the last deep blue traces of day in the window and the shimmering red-gold heat of the coals behind the doors of the kilns.

"Will you guard my sleep tonight, little one?" said the soft, deep voice in the dark.

Yce found she could shape her lips and her tongue to her will. "Yesh," she said.

"Come away, then. Let's see if the lord Kindrie can do something for your poor paws."

Behind them, in the empty room, the coals hissed and crackled through the long winter's night.


End file.
